


Through the Ashes in the Sky

by Imaginary_Bomb



Series: Yuo & Dorian [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Developing Relationship, Dragon Age Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn, First Kiss, Forehead Touching, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Not Really Character Death, POV Dorian Pavus, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 23:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginary_Bomb/pseuds/Imaginary_Bomb
Summary: Dorian had thought the worst day of his life was discovering his father planned to alter his mind in a blood ritual. That was before the day Haven burned.- - - - - -Occurs after chapter eleven of The Time Has Come; can stand alone.Edits 6/9/19





	Through the Ashes in the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to my beta [A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair/pseuds/A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair)
> 
> title from the in-game song "I Am The One"

Groaning, Dorian slowly became aware of himself again. The entire left side of his body was a bruise, and he was fairly certain his wrist was broken. His mouth tasted like ash and his eyes burned. “Maker’s ass,” he croaked.

“Good, you’re awake,” Blackwall said from… beside him? “Here, get your feet under you. Can’t carry you the whole way.”

Dorian’s legs nearly collapsed. With an arm around Blackwall’s shoulders, and Blackwall’s arm around his waist, they stumbled forward.

“Where’s Lavellan?” There’d been a dragon, hadn’t there? He hadn’t hallucinated that?

“We need to keep moving. Have to hope the others aren’t too far ahead of us.”

“The path's through the Chantry,” Sera called from ahead of them. She hopped impatiently foot-to-foot, an arm clutching her side. Her entire face looked singed. “Gotta hurry if we’re gonna make it.”

Dorian dug his heels in, nearly taking Blackwall to the ground with him. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Where. Is. Lavellan?”

Blackwall sighed. “You have to trust him, Dorian. We can’t help him now.”

“ _What_?”

Sera grabbed his hand. “My bow’s broke, Dorian. We can't—it’s too big for us. We have to _go_.”

Dread twisting in his gut, Dorian looked over his shoulder. They were nearly to the Chantry, but he could see the trebuchet from here, and arching above the walls, great leathery wings. The dragon’s shriek shook Dorian to his bones.

“You left him.” Dorian struggled out of Blackwall’s grip. “You left him!”

“We didn’t have a choice!” Blackwall snapped. His armor was ragged and the shield was missing from his back. His eyes were desperate and weary in the shadows of his helmet. “You must have faith in him.”

“That’s a dragon! He can’t stand against that.”

“Then it’s already too late for us to help him. Our only option is to move forward.”

“He _told_ us, Dorian!” Sera’s cheeks were stained with tears, but her eyes burned. “He didn’t want us there. We have to _go_!”

Dorian shook his head, stumbling back. “No, you go. But I can’t leave him.”

Blackwall cursed, and then Dorian was on his knees in the snow, gasping. “Sorry,” Blackwall huffed. “But we haven’t got the time.” He grabbed Dorian and slung him over his shoulder.

“Time to _go_ ,” Sera urged.

Dorian resisted against the screaming of his ribs, panic boiling. “No! Put me down, you bastard! We’re not leaving him!” He pounded his fist against Blackwall’s back fruitlessly.

They ran into the Chantry, the trebuchet and the dragon’s wings disappearing from sight. Dread began to crawl, cold-fingered, up his throat, desperation fraying his thoughts, as Dorian clung helplessly to Blackwall’s cuirass.

Sera found the path leading from the back of the Chantry and they began the trek. Countless footprints and wheel tracks marked the way. Once they’d made it a fair distance, Blackwall shrugged Dorian off.

“Can’t carry you any further. All right?”

Dorian was not all right—he had never been further from all right. He turned to find Haven behind them, flames and smoke obscuring the mountainside. He could make out the dragon’s crouched figure, but there was no sign of Lavellan.

Sera grabbed his arm. “Don’t get stuck. We gotta get higher.”

“If,” Dorian said, voice hollow. “If he’s still alive.”

“Have faith,” Blackwall said, though whether he was convinced himself, Dorian couldn’t say. “Let’s move.”

With Sera’s insistence, Dorian pulled his eyes away, and the three of them trudged up the mountain. Further along, the Iron Bull stood with his Chargers.

“Glad you made it.” He scrutinized them as they approached, no doubt cataloging every injury and possible liability. “Boss not with you?”

“We left him,” Dorian spat.

Sera and Blackwall did not argue the point.

“Well, I hope he knows what he’s doing. Let’s go, then. Need help, Sera?”

With the Chargers’ aid, they made quicker time up the path. The burning beacon of Haven disappeared intermittently behind the tree line. It was impossible to pick out details through the smoke.

Just as Dorian’s legs were ready to give out, they crested a ridge to find the bedraggled, huddled mass of Haven’s townspeople and Inquisition soldiers. Iron Bull sent one of his men to find Cullen, and Dorian staggered over to the ledge.

Haven had burned to embers now, the smoke thinned. Dorian’s eyes found the Chantry, the trebuchet—still aimed—the dragon, and there, still standing—

“Lavellan,” Dorian gasped. “He’s alive.”

“What?”

Dorian winced as Sera jostled his broken wrist, but did not take his eyes from Lavellan’s form. He was not alone. Before him stood another person, looming and skeletal; they had Lavellan cornered against the trebuchet.

“ _Shit_ ,” Varric hissed. Dorian turned to see Varric run a hand over his face, completely ashen. Beside him, Solas could have been carved from marble, eyes aglow and terrible as they fixed on the scene below.

“What in the Maker’s name is _that_?” Cassandra demanded, coming up beside Blackwall. Dorian realized a large number of townspeople and soldiers had wandered over, passing exclamations of shock and awed whispers.

“What does he mean to do with a sword?” Vivienne murmured, concern undercutting any scathing in the remark.

Before Dorian could enlighten her on Lavellan’s many and varied talents, a mellow shriek sounded overhead as a flare rose, high and burning, into the dark sky. The crowd fell silent.

Lavellan stepped forward, as if without fear, to meet the monster before him. In the next moment, he cast aside his sword and launched the trebuchet. Gasps rushed through the crowd, people calling out and pointing.

“Damn,” Bull muttered behind Dorian, as snow loosed from the mountainside.

“The dragon!” Sera pointed, her grip a vice on Dorian’s arm.

With a void-rending screech of rage, the dragon took flight, the skeletal being in its grasp.

“What about the Herald?” Blackwall said.

Dorian’s eyes searched the area around the trebuchet. Desperately, he sought any sign of Lavellan, but as the avalanche consumed the smoldering ruins of Haven, he could find not a trace.

Lavellan was gone.

* * *

Dorian sat at a fire with Sera and Varric. Cassandra and Leliana had finally decided they’d run far enough and could stop for the night. Not that any of them would be getting much sleep. Tents were erected, rations passed around. Solas and a handful of Circle mages gave healing to any who needed it.

Dorian focused on the twinges in his newly healed wrist to distract from the empty numbness that had opened in his chest. Varric absentmindedly shuffled an old deck of cards. Sera rested her chin on crossed arms, staring into the fire with dull eyes.

No, Dorian doubted anyone was likely to sleep well that night.

A commotion from the far side of the camp made Varric and Dorian look up, then to each other. Had they been found already? A soldier came running towards them, asking after healers, extra blankets, a tub, if there was one.

“Hey, kid,” Varric called out to her. “What’s the ruckus?”

“It’s the Herald,” she gasped. “By the grace of Andraste, he’s come back to us!”

Varric’s cards fell to the snow.

“ _What_?” Dorian exclaimed.

Sera was out of her seat like a shot, Dorian and Varric only seconds behind her. They met up with a growing crowd, shouts and praises filling the air. Dorian followed Sera as she elbowed her way through the throng, and there—

Cullen barked orders, for people to stay back, to assemble healers and make space in a tent. And slumped on Cassandra’s back was Lavellan. Pale as a corpse with frost encrusting his armor, but here, alive.

After that, things happened very quickly.

Lavellan was rushed to a tent, stripped of his frozen clothing, and beset upon by healers. A metal tub was found, filled with heated water to bring his temperature back to normal. He was subsequently bundled in as many layers as they could scavenge.

Lavellan regained consciousness in the midst of this and immediately had warm broth and healing potions forced on him. He managed to give a report of what he’d encountered: Corypheus, a magister responsible for the Blight, the orb and the anchor, his escape, the tunnels. He then promptly passed out again, and was put to bed with Mother Giselle and Solas to watch over him.

Dorian’s head was a riot of emotions. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Within the span of a few hours, he had seen Lavellan die and then return, seemingly resurrected.

There was indescribable relief, of course. But there was also a lingering grief, a knife’s edge of panic that he had come so close to losing Lavellan. There was the sour clench of guilt, of having left Lavellan to such a fate. And also, perhaps irrationally, fury, that Lavellan would be so stupidly self-sacrificial—that there was any circumstance in which the world would be better off without him.

He eventually pulled himself away from pacing outside Lavellan’s tent. It wouldn’t awaken Lavellan any faster, and Dorian still had no idea what to say to him when he did.

He found Varric dealing a game with Bull, Blackwall, and Sera. “Want in, Sparkler?” He had regained his joviality with the Herald’s return, in spite of their still precarious circumstances.

“Oh, why not?”

It was a lively game. Sera was terrible at cheating, and Bull kept trying to convince them that Par Vollen rules were valid everywhere. Dorian didn’t even care if Blackwall mocked him for a shitty hand; it was the distraction he needed.

During a round where Varric was trying to point out to Sera that they could _see_ the cards she had tucked in her leathers, Bull looked up and called, “Boss!”

In unison, they turned.

Walking towards them, leaning on Vivienne’s arm, was Lavellan. His hair was free from its braid, eyes luminous in the dark. He was still a little pale under his tattoos and he bore new scars along his nose. But he was wrapped in a thick blanket and upright and _alive_ , and Dorian’s lungs felt tight in his chest.

“There he is!” Varric crowed. “Good to see you among the world of the living.”

Lavellan smiled. A tired smile, but genuine and full of relief.

“You!” Sera threw down her cards and ran at him.

“Sera!” He embraced her, lifted her, and spun as she squawked in protest. “Thank Sylaise you’re safe.” When her feet were back on the ground, she gave a solid punch to Lavellan’s bicep. “Shit!” Lavellan cradled his arm. “Sera…” he whined.

“That’s for being dead!”

He sighed. “You’re right. I deserved that.”

His eyes locked with Dorian’s over her head, and in the next moment, Lavellan was moving towards him. Dorian opened his mouth, but before he could decide what to say, Lavellan pulled him into a kiss. Lavellan’s hands were cold where they cupped Dorian’s face, his lips chapped and dry. The kiss was searing, desperate, hungry. Dorian trembled, curled one hand around the back of Lavellan’s neck and the other around his waist.

They broke apart, breaths ragged and fogging the air. Dorian did not let go.

“Sorry,” Lavellan whispered. “But I almost died.”

Dorian closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. He pressed his forehead against Lavellan’s, savoring the pulse that beat steady under his palm.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I’m just really glad you’re alive.” His arms wrapped around Dorian’s shoulders, pulling him to his chest. He pushed his face into Lavellan’s neck, breathing him in, sweat and leather and earth.

“Me too,” Dorian said.

After a moment, Dorian become aware of other voices.

“—ure you ought to be walking around?”

“It’s fine,” Lavellan said, arms slipping from Dorian’s shoulders. “Vivienne gave me something that’s made my pain all dull and fuzzy.”

Dorian’s grip tightened for a moment before he forced himself to let go. He straightened the blanket around Lavellan’s shoulders, and looked over to Vivienne who was scrutinizing her nails, aloof as ever.

“Besides,” Lavellan continued, “I wasn’t getting much rest with _that_.” He jerked his head in the direction of their dubious leaders, who had not stopped arguing since Lavellan was recovered. Although the silence just then indicated they had reached an impasse.

Lavellan staggered over to Blackwall and threw his arms around him. “I was so afraid I would never see you and your magnificent beard again.”

Blackwall chuckled, giving Lavellan a gentle hug in return.

“Gave us a scare, Boss,” Bull said.

“Trust me, I gave myself a scare, too.” He gave Bull’s stomach an affectionate pat.

“Next time you fight a dragon, I wanna come.”

Lavellan laughed. “I’ll remember that, Bull. Definitely wanna have you between me and the next dragon that wants to eat me.”

Solas materialized beside Dorian, making him jump. What was it with elves and their silent cat feet? It was like the shadows just absorbed them.

“Solas! Can you believe I even missed that moon head of yours?”

Solas gave a serene smile. “A moment, if I may?”

“Going to make me regret being alive already I see.” But it was said without rancor, the tired, relieved smile still in place. When Solas turned away, Lavellan followed. He passed by Dorian, catching his eye and running a firm hand down his arm, leaving Dorian hot and desperate and no less emotionally fraught than before.

“Good to have the boss back,” Bull said, taking his seat next to Varric, who was gathering up his cards.

“Hopefully he’ll be able to point our illustrious leaders in a sensible direction,” Vivienne remarked, before walking away in the direction of her tent.

Sera had already vanished, presumably to enact some sort of prank to punish Lavellan for being dead.

“Well, now that I’ve seen he’s well, I think I’ll turn in,” said Blackwall. “Good night all.”

“Get some rest, Hero,” Varric said. “Sparkler, off to get your beauty sleep, or you fancy a round of Diamondback?”

Dorian glanced back to Lavellan. Solas had lit a veilfire, and he and Lavellan stood close together. They were too far away for him to make out Lavellan’s expression.

“Deal me in.”

Bull produced a bottle of something sour he claimed was from the Anderfels. Varric and Dorian took one whiff and declined. Dorian remained distracted through most of the game, keeping his attention on Lavellan. He didn’t appear to be growing upset from whatever Solas was telling him, and this was probably the longest he’d seen Lavellan spend in Solas’s company without the culmination of some sort of argument.

When Varric had soundly kicked their asses, Lavellan and Solas parted ways, with Lavellan heading back in their direction. He still looked tired, but not distressed.

“Everything all right?” Dorian asked. _Can I help you?_ he thought, but could not bring himself to say.

Lavellan nodded. “I need to speak with Leliana and the others, and then I’m going to sleep for an entire day.”

“Cheers, Boss,” Bull said, raising his bottle.

Dorian’s eyes followed Lavellan until he disappeared into the tent Cassandra and Cullen had commandeered. He stood, dusting snow off his robes. “I think I will retire, as well.” Although whether he would sleep was another matter. But Lavellan was alive; Lavellan was glad to know _he_ was alive. And they were still stranded in the mountains, Maker knew where, with Corypheus an ominous, unknown threat hanging over them. Figuring out the riot of his emotions could perhaps wait until the more pressing concerns had been addressed.

Before stepping into his tent, he looked over to where Lavellan had gone one last time. He could make out his blanket-bundled silhouette along with four others. He stared at Lavellan’s shadow, the gesturing of his hands, the turns of his head, for a long time before finally slipping into his tent and a restless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sure the devs worked very hard on that whole singing business, but personally i would have preferred something like this to happen, and there's no way yuo would be comforted by mother giselle
> 
> visual of yuo [here](https://merrybandofmurderers.tumblr.com/post/185478905070/updated-pics-of-yuo-hethey-pronouns-37-62)


End file.
